


all earthly delights

by Wildehack (tyleet)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bondage, Canon Asexual Character, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Lonely!Martin, M/M, Under-negotiated Kink, Unhealthy Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyleet/pseuds/Wildehack
Summary: “Ready?” Martin asks, and Jon nods, eyes dark.





	all earthly delights

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how to tag for this. There's no sex in it, but it's also absolutely a...sad sex scene? 
> 
> Title from St Vincent's Apocalypse song, but especially this bit: 
> 
> You wake with the stitches over both your eyes  
> And deny me my body and all earthly delights

“Ready?” Martin asks, and Jon nods, eyes dark. He leans in for a kiss, but Martin stops him with a gentle touch to his shoulder.  
  
“Just--lie back,” Martin suggests, a little amazed by his own boldness. His stomach still contracts involuntarily when Jon obediently lies back on the bed. He’s a--he’s a sight, all pale skin from not spending nearly enough time outdoors, speckled here and there with the Corruption’s scars, dark hair spread out on the pillow. A distant part of Martin still can’t really believe it. _Jonathan Sims_ is in his bed, _Jon_ ’s bare chest is rising up and down, Jon’s mouth is just barely parted, and of course Jon’s eyes are bright and black and open, watching Martin look at him.  
  
Very carefully Martin reaches out and brushes a line down Jon’s collarbone with the back of his forefinger, and is rewarded with a little shiver.  
  
“Okay,” Martin says, swallowing. “So, I think the first thing is that you should close your eyes.” He sets the scarf he wants to use as a blindfold down on the bed next to Jon’s hip.   
  
“I--I’ll still be able to see you,” Jon says, eyes fixed on the scarf, and he sounds ashamed about it, which is the exact opposite intended effect of this whole experiment.  
  
“No you won’t,” Martin replies firmly, and lets himself fade, just a little bit. It won’t stop Jon from finding him if he really makes an effort--he’s not even invisible to the naked eye, much less the Eye itself--but he can mask himself enough that Jon won’t be able to find him from under a blindfold without really Looking.  
  
It has an immediate effect: Jon’s breath quickens, and he bites down on his own lower lip. Martin suffers a brief and ridiculous pang of jealousy. “Yes,” Jon says, nodding. “Yes, all right.”  
  
“Right,” Martin says, and lifts up the scarf. “Close your eyes.”  
  
The blindfold goes on easily, and Martin gets to hold Jon’s head in his hands as he tests that it’s in place, and he takes the opportunity to touch the delicate skin where Jon’s ear meets his neck, stroking the soft hair there lightly with his thumb. He’s wanted to do that for years, he thinks, and now he gets to. He can feel the warm pulse of Jon’s sigh against his throat.  
  
“Okay,” he says, settling Jon’s head back down on the pillow. “Hands next.”  
  
Jon lets Martin tie him to the bedpost, so he’s spread out against the duvet, and Martin gets up off the bed, just drinks him in for a long minute. The only clothing Jon has removed is his shirt and his shoes. He’s still wearing his belt, is lying on Martin’s bed in socked feet.  
  
Martin’s hard--has been hard since Jon took off his shirt, practically. Jon isn’t, but that’s not what this is for. He lets Jon wait for him for another minute, until Jon’s shifting nervously, obviously not sure where Martin is. Maybe if he’s there at all. His nipples are tight with nerves, and Martin briefly wants to take one in his mouth, roll it against his tongue. Jon might even let him, if Martin asked.  
  
Instead, Martin moves silently to the end of the bed and takes one of Jon’s feet in his hands. Jon full-body flinches, then laughs a bit breathlessly as Martin gives his ankle a reassuring squeeze. “Good?”  
  
Jon makes an affirmative, self-deprecating kind of sound, and then loses the end of it when Martin carefully strips off his sock and digs his fingers into the arch of his foot.  
  
Martin gives great foot massages. It’s been a selling point on him as a boyfriend in pretty much all of his past relationships. It only takes him a few minutes to have Jon more or less melting into the bed, making soft little vocalizations that get louder when Martin works away the tightness in his Achilles tendon. Eventually Martin makes his way up from Jon’s feet to his calves, sliding his fingers up under the fabric of his trousers, rucking them awkwardly up his shins. Jon trembles and sighs under his hands, so: worth it.  
  
When Martin decides he's done with Jon’s calves, he smooths the trousers back down. He presses a kiss to the inside of Jon’s bent knee, and relishes the intake of breath. 

Something hot and happy is unfolding in Martin’s sternum, and he thinks that maybe before Peter he would have said “I love you” or something at this juncture. Even though it’s obviously too soon, and Jon obviously still doesn’t feel the same.  
  
Anyway, he thinks, coaxing Jon’s thighs open, mostly so he can have the pleasure of cupping his hipbones in either hand, rubbing the little dip beneath each one with his thumbs, and then stroking firmly down to his kneecaps--does he love Jon?  
  
He loves touching Jon. He loves the soft noises Jon makes under his hands, the way his body both resists and yearns towards vulnerability. He loves Jon’s--attention, and always has.  
  
But he thinks there used to be something else, and that maybe he’s missing it.  
  
He’s been missing a lot of things, since Peter.  
  
“You’re doing so well,” he says out loud, and Jon flushes. It’s delightful to see, because Jon’s face doesn’t color, really, but his throat and chest bloom pink.  
  
“I--haven’t done anything,” Jon says, but Martin thinks maybe Jon means _he_ hasn’t done anything, that this isn’t what he expected when he told Martin he could tie him up and touch him however he liked.  
  
Martin hums, noncommittal, and puts his hands on Jon’s ribs, stroking inwards, feeling the hollow spaces between each one. God, Jon doesn’t eat enough. Jon squirms, twisting a little in his restraints so he can grip the scarves with his hands.   
  
“I mean,” Jon says, clearly flustered, “I mean you can--you _can_ touch me. Sexually. If you want to.”  
  
Martin skates his fingers through Jon’s chest hair. “What makes you think I’m not?” He brushes a nipple with the edge of his littlest finger, and Jon twitches. 

“I,” Jon says, inhaling. “I just--”  
  
“You said I could do whatever I wanted,” Martin notes. He cups Jon’s cheek in his hand, and after a beat Jon leans into his palm, a little stilted, but obviously trying. It’s stupidly endearing. “I’m doing what I want. Okay?”  
  
Jon’s breath is coming in quick puffs against his skin. “Okay,” he says.  
  
Martin doesn’t stop touching him until he’s mapped Jon’s entire torso--from the pads of his fingers to the tense muscles of his neck to the delicate skin under his eyes--and Jon is boneless and limp in his restraints. The evidence of Martin’s touch is all over him--he’s pink with it, flushed and gorgeous with Martin’s fingerprints all over his skin. He looks like he might even be able to sleep tonight. 

Martin’s honestly just about to reach out and take off the blindfold when Jon tosses a little on the bed, head coming up off the pillow searchingly, and Martin realizes how long he’s been standing there looking at him. He’s also faded a little more than he meant to--he’s fully translucent now.  
  
“Martin?” Jon whispers, a little hoarse.  
  
There’s no reason not to answer. To sit down and unwrap Jon’s hands, maybe even kiss him like he’s been aching to for hours. 

Martin doesn’t answer, holding his breath. Longing feels like a physical thing against his ribcage, painful and sweet. 

This, he realizes wonderingly, is the best part.  
  
Jon swallows. “Martin?” he says again, and Martin lets himself imagine there’s something longing in Jon’s voice too. 

Longing, or--  
  
Jon shudders, hands twisting in his restraints. Trying to get loose. He’ll be able to tug himself free if he really tries--Martin tied them like that on purpose--but just for a second, the look on his face is utterly abandoned.   
  
“It’s okay,” Martin says, relenting, and a panicked gust of air leaves Jon’s chest. Martin does sit down on the bed, and Jon pants and arches mindlessly towards him, his whole body bending in Martin’s direction, trying and failing to touch him.  
  
Something is missing, Martin thinks distantly. Something is absent in me. He drops his hand into Jon’s hair, and Jon makes a small wounded sound.  
  
“I’m here,” Martin tells him, and wonders if it’s true.

**Author's Note:**

> Lonely!Martin is horrifying but Good For Me, you know what i mean?


End file.
